


Poker Vignette

by Elysandra



Series: Triumvirate [3]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: (she calls it torture), BDSM, F/F, F/M, Kate being teased, Multi, Poker being played, mild electricity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysandra/pseuds/Elysandra
Summary: There are certain... traditions they have established over time. Poker is one of them.
Relationships: Helen Magnus/Kate Freelander/Nikola Tesla
Series: Triumvirate [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822084
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Poker Vignette

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 12 Days of Ficmas challenge on the Amanda Tapping discord. Day 1.  
> Prompts used: "sitting in front of a fireplace" + "traditions".
> 
> Enjoy! :)

~~~

They don’t have protocols. They don’t have punishment rules. The top spot changes as quickly as their moods, and it’s become somewhat of a game for them to come up with varied demands, scenes, predicaments.

There are certain traditions, though. Like the unwritten rule that whoever loses first at poker is at the other two’s mercy until the winner is determined. So there is really nothing to do but wait for Kate - and sweat. In more ways than one.

The fireplace is going strong in front of her, and the floor is already covered in a fine sheen of sweat where her forehead connects with the hardwood close to the fireplace screen. Face down, ass in the air - she hates that position with a passion!

And Helen knows it.

She is the one going with pleasure today. For every time she wins, Kate gets to spend the next round in slowly but surely growing frustration as the little vibrator in her panties hums to life, nestled between her pussy lips right below her clit.

It’s barely audible through her jeans, certainly not over the crackling of the fire and the low tunes of Christmas music in the background. Her yelp, muffled by her gag, is what confirms it has been turned on, and the low keening deep in her throat along with restlessly thrusting hips documents her slowly growing frustration. Hips thrusting against nothing, of course. Because what could be more embarrassing? But she’s lost control over her hips several rounds ago, and has given up hope on ever getting it back.

Head against the floor, ass in the air, she writhes for Helen, her guttural frustration a soundtrack to Helen’s triumphs.

Maddening as they are, she still desperately wishes for them to continue. She doesn’t know what the evening might bring with Helen as the winner. But her continued winning would put a quicker end to at least this part of her torture.

And Nikola winning a round is worse.

Because he is going for pain tonight. With her hands tied behind her naked back, the deceptively small weights on her nipple clamps swing just above the floor, very much torturing her poor nipples, very much out of reach to relieve the strain. Because letting them touch the floor is _not_ pleasant. Not that their swinging is much better. And even Helen’s wins ensure a proper swing!

Nikola’s wins, though, bring the actual pain. The shocks.

It’s the lowest of settings, barely more than a pin prick. But she hates electricity play with a passion - and he knows it. She can imagine his smirk every time he wins, every time her muffled yelp announces the first of the shocks from her clamps. Every ten seconds for as long as the next round lasts, she spends the time after his triumphs whimpering into her gag, wishing desperately for Helen to win the next round, for the shocks to stop and the vibrator to start humming again while she works hard on keeping the weights off the floor and the ‘safety measures’ from shocking her into remembering.

That, at least, she can control. And her frustration is increasing either way.

Because she’s long since past the point of the little shocks dampening her arousal. On the contrary.

She’s also long past the point of coherent thought, past the point of keeping track of the rounds, the wins, the time.

She’s at their mercy.

~~~ 


End file.
